ong the dead and dying, there stood the two ancient men of the Apura,
and in their hands were cedar rods.

"It is the Wizards--the Wizards of the Apura," men cried, and shrunk
this way and that, thinking no more on war.

The ancient men drew nigh. They took no heed of the dying or the dead:
on they walked, through blood and wine and fallen tables and scattered
arms, till they stood before the Pharaoh.

"_Pharaoh! Pharaoh! Pharaoh!_" they cried again. "Dead are the
first-born of Khem at the hand of Jahveh. Wilt thou let the people go?"

Then Pharaoh lifted his face and cried:

"Get you gone--you and all that is yours. Get you gone swiftly, and let
Khem see your face no more."

The people heard, and the living left the hall, and silence fell on the
city, and on the dead who died of the sword, and the dead who died
of the pestilence. Silence fell, and sleep, and the Gods' best
gift--forgetfulness.

III

THE BATHS OF BRONZE

Even out of this night of dread the morning rose, and with it came Rei,
bearing a message from the King. But he did not find the Wanderer in
his chamber. The Palace eunuchs said that he had risen and had asked for
Kurri, the Captain of the Sidonians, who was now the Queen's Jeweller.
Thither Rei went, for Kurri was lodged with the servants in a court of
the Royal House, and as the old man came he heard the sound of hammers
beating on metal. There, in the shadow which the Palace wall cast into a
little court, there was the Wanderer; no longer in his golden mail, but
with bare arms, and dressed in such a light smock as the workmen of Khem
were wont to wear.

The Wanderer was bending over a small brazier, whence a flame and a
light blue smoke arose and melted into the morning light. In his hand he
held a small hammer, and he had a little anvil by him, on which lay
one of the golden shoulder-plates of his armour. The other pieces were
heaped beside the brazier. Kurri, the Sidonian, stood beside him, with
graving tools in his hands.

"Hail to thee, Eperitus," cried Rei, calling him by the name he had
chosen to give himself. "What makest thou here with fire and anvil?"

"I am but furbishing up my armour," said the Wanderer, smiling. "It has
more than one dint from the fight in the hall;" and he pointed to his
shield, which was deeply scarred across the blazon of the White Bull,
the cognizance of dead Paris, Priam's son. "Sidonian, blow up the fire."

Kurri crouched on his hams and blew the